


Pennies In Your Pocket

by jibrailis



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: M/M, New Game Plus Challenge, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-17
Updated: 2010-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:12:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibrailis/pseuds/jibrailis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faraday and Badd relieve tension after the first Yatagarasu heist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pennies In Your Pocket

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [qwonam](http://qwonam.dreamwidth.org) at the New Game Plus Challenge.

The first success is a thrill so dangerous that Byrne has to take two deep breaths and focus on a patch of worn brick to calm his pulse down. Byrne leans against the wall outside the dingy late night pizza shop where they've chosen to meet up, and he gulps in the air, cooled from the night's rain. Calisto is grinning, her face broken wide by her obvious joy. Tyrell seems as unaffected and gruff as always, though the street light falls in stripes across his face, highlighting the slight crook of his mouth. He's holding the disc in his pocket, and Byrne knows that it's safe there. Tyrell would never let anything happen to it.

So they did it. Their first job as the Yatagarasu, a pipe dream made reality. They broke into BBK Tech and stole the incriminating data straight from their network, the data that'll prove the company's connection to the smuggling ring. The courts will condemn them, BBK Tech will fall, justice will be served, and they'll be one step closer to uncovering the smuggling ring itself.

Byrne has trouble breathing; the adrenaline is still so strong in his blood.

Calisto is the first to put herself together. She pulls out her powder and checks her reflection, frowning delicately when she sees her makeup has been slightly streaked by the rain. "Well, congratulations are in order," she says briskly. To Tyrell, she adds, "You'll make sure to drop the disc off at the police station? With the Yatagarasu card attached?"

"Lady, it's not like I'll forget," Tyrell replies.

"You detective types are always so absent-minded. I just want to make sure." Calisto closes her powder case with a snap and smiles, cat-like in the dark. "Then I'll see you boys in court. Faraday, nail BBK as hard as you can. No mercy, you hear me? No mercy at all."

"I will," Byrne promises. He shakes Calisto's hand. A million words toss across his tongue. _I'm sorry about your sister. I'm sorry we couldn't save her. I'm sorry we failed._ But Calisto is smiling along with Tyrell, and it's the first time in a long while that Byrne has felt invincible. As a prosecutor he has failed, but as part of the Yatagarasu, nothing can touch him. It's just that sort of feeling. He can run across burning bridges and dodge bullets. He can bring down entire criminal organizations with a blueprint and a hacked building access card.

They watch Calisto hail a taxi. 

Byrne, still grinning, hooks his fingers into his jean loops. He leans back against the wall where he's shielded from the rain, and he grins up at Tyrell. "Want to grab a bite to eat?" he asks, nodding at the neon sign outside the pizzeria. "Apparently break-ins make me hungry."

"Don't you have to go home to Kay?" 

"She's with my sister for the night," Byrne says. "I told them I was staying late working on a case."

Tyrell has cop eyes. Deep, perceptive, and aggressive when he turns them on you the way he does Byrne. They've been friends for years, trusted colleagues even longer, and still the feeling of Tyrell's eyes on him, silently sizing him up, can make Byrne's mind turn to inappropriate thoughts. "You're too old to be lounging in an alleyway like a two dollar hooker, Faraday," Tyrell says, and his tongue curls around each word crisply. 

Byrne doesn't let himself indulge often. Tyrell is right -- he's too old, he's got Kay to think about, he's tired so often by the oppressive accumulation of corrupted court cases he just can't win. But tonight is different. Tonight victory is a tingle that curls his toes and makes him reckless, so he flashes his brightest smile at Tyrell -- the one he knows softens the wrinkles around his mouth -- and says, "Forget the pizza. Take me to bed."

Tyrell's eyes darken to an expanse of pupil. That he can do this to him, that he can provoke this kind of reaction from a man who's surely seen everything, increases Byrne's invincibility. "Come on," he taunts gently, and he curls one hand around the back of Tyrell's neck, holding onto the rain-soaked hairs that curl there. Then he pulls him down for a kiss. He bites Tyrell's lower lip and subsequently runs his tongue over it. Give and take, attack and defense. Tyrell is stock still for a minute, and Byrne suddenly feels the cold acutely. He shivers against Tyrell.

Then Tyrell's huge hands are on his hips, pushing him backwards, and Tyrell is a hot walled pressure against him, filling his entire line of vision. Tyrell's hands and his mouth and the heavy rasp of his breath as he breathes Byrne's name, followed by a curse that gets wrecked halfway through when Byrne slides his tongue against Tyrell's. It's a smooth, sleek motion, but Tyrell's hands tighten convulsively and the kiss turns a shade darker, meaner. These are the hands that scaled the wall, Byrne thinks. These are the hands that took out the security guard in the control room. He pushes himself against Tyrell with a pleading snap of his hips, and then Tyrell is pulling away.

"I'm not going to do you in an alley," he says roughly. 

"Then come home with me," Byrne replies. Tyrell looks at him closely and then nods, twice. He wraps his right hand around the twist of Byrne's scarf, and he leads them out of the alley and onto the street where Tyrell seems to summon a taxi out of thin air. The blinking lights follow them. Byrne leans against Tyrell inside the taxi, letting his body relax, and for once he doesn't care about what the driver will think. Tyrell smells like sweat and smoke. He smells like everything Byrne has ever wanted.

Tyrell practically throws the bills at the driver's face when they arrive at their destination. Byrne smiles apologetically, but he doesn't have too much time because Tyrell is still tugging on his scarf -- and Byrne has never seen Tyrell act this way before. Not to him. He's seen Tyrell get rough and handsy with the criminals, but with Byrne and Kay he's always been careful and considerate. Fuck that, Byrne thinks, grinning sloppily as he navigates the steps after Tyrell, listening to the impatient thud of Tyrell's shoes on the stairs. Fuck consideration. 

"If you don't ride me hard," Byrne says, "I'm going out and finding a man who can."

And Tyrell groans. "Jesus fucking Christ. You talk this way in the courtroom?"

Byrne laughs. "If I did, I think I would give the poor judge a heart attack."

"Either that or a massive boner." Tyrell kicks at Byrne's ankle. "Hurry up with the keys."

"You're so demanding," Byrne says, but there's no reproof in his voice, none at all. He opens the door and tugs Tyrell inside. Tyrell's been in his apartment a hundred times before; this is the site of many late nights going over cases and arguing over the finer points of legal procedure. Right over there on the kitchen table there is an imprint of Tyrell's coffee mug, and the mug itself sits in a special place in the cupboards. There's an extra blanket for Tyrell in the linen closet; there's an extra toothbrush in the bathroom. Kay's toys are scattered in the area in front of the TV, and Byrne can easily conjure any of the hundred memories of Tyrell and Kay crouched over the Lego set, building castles and space fortresses. 

Really, nothing has changed.

He starts stripping as he heads to the bedroom. Tyrell makes a remark about how eager he is, but Byrne just laughs. He throws his shirt over his desk and then his pants over his dresser. "Hurry up," he teases, and when it seems like Tyrell is being too slow just undoing his belt, Byrne walks over and helps him. His fingers slide over the leather; his callouses rub the entire length of it. Tyrell's fingers touch Byrne's face in response and slide meaningfully over his cheekbones.

Byrne unzips Tyrell out of his pants and says, "See, that wasn't so hard."

"I could make a really profound penis joke right here," Tyrell says, and Byrne laughs as he backs onto the bed. 

"You can do anything with penises that you want. I'm giving you free reign." He falls onto his mattress in an inelegant sprawl, feeling a brief flicker of hesitance when all Tyrell does is stare. It's not like he hasn't seen Byrne naked before. It's not like he hasn't kissed that patch of skin there, or touched that place beneath Byrne's knee that makes him groan. None of this is new, just rare. But Tyrell's dark eyes rest on Byrne's hip, and then he bites him, gently.

Byrne arches his back. Tyrell settles on top of him, coat gone and pants gone too, but still wearing his shirt and his boxers. Byrne doesn't approve, but every time he tries to help Tyrell out of his obnoxious clothing, Tyrell bites him again and then smooths the hurt with his tongue. Byrne's hips jerk. His balls are heavy against his skin and he feels fever-flushed. He tries to bring his hand to his face, to wipe away an errant bead of sweat, but Tyrell growls and says, "No. Keep your hands where they are."

Byrne sucks in a breath, shaky, as Tyrell's tongue travels from his hip to the crease of his balls and then downwards, touching purposefully against Byrne's puckered hole. "Oh my god," Byrne says. This has only been done for him once, in a time before he was married and before that marriage fell apart in a wreck of missed phone calls and long hours at work. But Tyrell isn't hesitant at all. He's teasing, a bit aggressive, and more than a little mean. But when his tongue finally pushes inside, Byrne makes a sound like he's crying.

Tyrell's tongue works at him roughly, and there's the added sound of flesh and wetness and Byrne's low gasps. His hands move even though they're not supposed to -- he grips the sheets and hangs on as Tyrell's stubble rubs his inner thighs raw. It's good. It's so good. His body feels like Tyrell has just reached inside and flipped on the switchboard. He's aware of everything, every minuscule nudge and lick and scrape, and he feels lit up, up, up.

But he can only bear it for so long. He's a middle-aged man. He can't get it up more than once, and he wants to come with Tyrell's cock in him. He says as much, and gets the pleasure of watching Tyrell's eyebrows come together in concentration. He says Tyrell's name, softly, and pokes him with his foot. "Get in me," he orders, and then his teasing tone dies when Tyrell forgoes his previously leisurely pace to shuck off his boxers and his shirt.

Tyrell is...well, Tyrell is large, there's no doubt about that. He's hung and gorgeous, and Byrne's mouth waters with the desire to suck Tyrell down. Which he does. He gets on his hands and knees, crawling over so that he can have his taste. Tyrell's nails dig into his shoulder, and then he shoves Byrne away roughly, but not before his cock dribbles wet with saliva and precome.

"Lie back," he says, and Byrne does. There's condoms and wet in the night sidetable, and it may be a while since Tyrell was last here but he remembers. Byrne hisses as the cold gel touches his sensitized hole, but then he bites down on his bottom lip as Tyrell inserts two fingers, creating an obscene squishing sound that makes Byrne, for the first time tonight, want to blush. "You--" Tyrell is unable to finish that fragment, unable or not inclined, and Byrne twists on the sheets as Tyrell gets him ready, his body following the crook of Tyrell's fingers, wanting more. 

When Tyrell finally pushes inside of him, it's like that feeling when they first slipped into BBK Tech, a feeling like they could get away with anything. Byrne's neck strains as he tries to look up at Tyrell. He wants to see Tyrell's expression. But Tyrell snaps his hips and Byrne chokes as pleasure snaps accordingly through his groin and up his body, whiting out his vision. He breathes. Then it's hard to breathe. 

Tyrell hooks Byrne's legs over his shoulders, forcing him even deeper inside. Byrne's sweating into the sheets now, sweating hard as Tyrell fills him as wide as he'll go. He feels desperately open and vulnerable, but this is Tyrell, who has always taken good care of him. Tyrell's eyes flick up to his, and then he says something quietly, too quiet to catch, before he curves his hand around Byrne's hip and starts pounding.

Oh god. Oh god.

Tyrell slides in and out of him, not kindly, not gently, but with an intent that leaves Byrne shaking. He has no fear but what replaces it is the sound of rushing blood in his ears and the unbearable tension in his body as Tyrell rackets him up, coils him into a bundle of nerves and groans and want, always want. Tyrell straightens his back, lifting Byrne up, and Byrne arches his back to meet Tyrell's long, deep thrusts. 

The bed shakes. Byrne takes it, and takes it, and loves it. He throws his head back against the pillow and wails when he comes, smearing his stomach with fluid while Tyrell keeps on pounding. 

"I -- yeah," Byrne says, at a loss for words. He watches Tyrell's face as Tyrell freezes and comes in a sharp push, his shoulders hunching up to his ears. 

"Fuck, I love you," Tyrell says. Then he freezes again and glances aside. Byrne's chest aches. Tyrell quickly slips out of him and starts going through the efficient motions of cleanup. He doesn't look at Byrne.

Byrne says, "Tyrell."

No answer.

 _"Tyrell."_

"What's the matter?" Tyrell asks gruffly, throwing the used condom into the wastebasket. 

"I thought it was you that didn't want this to be...a regular thing," Byrne says. "You said it was dangerous for our partnership. That first time."

"Yeah, well, that first time I was so head over heels for you that I would've said anything to protect myself," Tyrell replies. He looks deeply uncomfortable. He's not the kind of man to talk about his feelings. Byrne laughs wryly under his breath, and then regrets it when Tyrell flinches.

"I'm not laughing at you," Byrne says. He lets his legs fall open, lets himself be the mess that he is. "I'm just laughing at how stupid we are. I wanted to -- I wanted you. It's not just a trick of the adrenaline. I want you here even in the morning when Kay gets back. I want to wander into the kitchen and find you making pancakes for us."

Finally Tyrell smiles. "I see how this is, Faraday. Just because your pancakes taste like cat shit--"

"Get over here," Byrne interrupts. When Tyrell obeys, excellent man that he is, he wraps himself around Tyrell like an insistent species of octopus and rests his head on his broad chest. "This is good. Just like this."

"Yeah," Tyrell says, "yeah it is."


End file.
